MR PRESIDENT

Togo (Africa), 2078

'Who would have thought? The Wretched of the Earth saves the rich world with their old cuckoo clocks?' an old black man sighs in Mina language.

Slouched on a leather armchair, the man's head tilts against the back of the chair in a very uncomfortable position which makes the intonation of his voice sound like a moan. He looks at the ceiling as if he has asked it his question. He takes a deep breath before straightening up to tug on his jacket. He is elegantly dressed: sky blue shirt, black suit, well-polished brown shoes. He stares intensely at the young black woman who looks at him silently sitting on the armchair beside him. The gaze of the septuagenarian seems lost in the depths of his memory as a young man.

'Mr. President,' the young woman says calmly in Mina language, smiling compassionately at the old man, 'You tell me the same story exactly to the wording at each session. I would like to help you Mr. President, but you have to give me the means to do so.'

The man gives her a tender smile as if she was a child. He seems to be looking for his words; words that such a young adult could understand. How can he possibly tell her that everything she has ever been told about human beings is a tale, a web of lies, a mirage? He doesn't want to scare her, but he feels the urge to warn her of the danger that still lays ahead. He knows far too well that mankind still hasn't learnt anything and therefore, the lesson will have to be taken up once again sooner or later; soon he supposes. His gaze suddenly blurs. She is so young, just like him at that time. The president rubs his neck and shakes his head to push away the tears that come to his eyes. A few minutes pass. Silence fills the spacious room as the old man slowly starts to rub his hands together looking at them as if they didn't belong to him.

'I was 25,' the president says softly, looking up at the young woman. She knows this story by heart because she has heard it hundreds of times from the mouth of the president of her country and in history e-books as well...

Artificial intelligence, biotechnology, and robotics had transformed the rich modern world into a small paradise. Everything was sophisticated, predictable, fast, beautiful and easy mainly for the lucky residents of paradise. Successive Pandemics and natural disasters had terrorised the world population a few years earlier. They were ready to accept anything to live on what remained of the planet. Survive no matter what at any cost. It took them less than ten years to tip everything on one side thanks to technology. Finally, the man of the modern world was truly the sole master of humanity. They had control of everything over everyone. It lasted a few years, then... the toys of the masters of the human world took over, but not quite as men had imagined: a war between machines and men. No, those machines did much better than their creator: sophisticated, predictable, fast, beautiful and easy as they had been designed to do everything. Overnight, entire countries and continents found themselves under the total control of an intelligent, half-biological, half-robot system; a perfect system. The only ones spared: the poor countries left at the gates of Paradise years before that. For them, there had never been a profusion of artificial intelligence, biotechnology and robotics at home, in the office, in schools, hospitals and other public places. For them, everything had always been: primitive, uncertain, slow, ugly, and difficult.

The latter waited a long time thinking that the residents of Paradise would eventually come out of their smart cage to share their spoils. Then, months and years having passed, they finally understood that they had to become the master of their own fate, relying on their sole intelligence. So, by virtue of what, they came together in all humility. They talked to each other a lot like they hadn't for almost three centuries. They developed the tools and infrastructures necessary for their autonomy based on principles, aspirations, and values ​​that were theirs. They no longer waited, hands raised for crumbs to fall off Paradise. They knew that this time, no crumbs would fall from up there: Paradise. The system, which had once nourished their pride as egoic creatures while taking away their dignity, had finally decided to let them down without compassion or remorse.

In a very short time, poverty didn't exist in poor countries anymore. The scale on which they had been measured for centuries had simply vanished. With the disappearance of the ladder of Paradise, followed the disappearance of Hell. They were no longer not enough, nor too much. They were. Together, they had regained pride, confidence, and dignity without having to take any away from anyone else. The desire to fight or compete with each other to win a seat in Paradise was gone. Together, they were.

However, despite their redemption, they remained men with the original curiosity of small children. So, they put on their military clothes and flew onto their old cuckoo clocks to see Paradise, where a supposedly intelligent, biological, and robotic system was holding the great powers of the world captive. They took some weapons even though they knew their technology was less advanced. They chose Europe to see the smart system because of the proximity to the continent. Ideal for a quick escape.

They arrived in a big city, clean, and orderly. A few buses were coming and going on almost empty roads; the passengers were all very old and seemed to be accompanied by strange-looking men and women; cattle and wild animals roamed freely taking advantage of nature which enjoyed all the space left by the few buildings planted here and there. No ruins, no rubble, no corpses lying on the ground, no signs of a war or violence.

Elderly people were having fun like the children they used to be in a huge park with a large swimming pool. Some were sitting at tables, others on benches. Their frail small wrinkled bodies moved slowly, but surely. Big genuine smiles brightened their wrinkled faces while their gaze no longer judged the world. Like guardian angels, men and women with strange gaze stood by their side. They noticed us right away with our colourful uniforms, our young dark faces, guns hanging from our shoulders. They weren't frightened. They weren't surprised either. It was as if they had been waiting for us.

'I'd never seen cyborgs in my life,' the president continues, staring into the distance, 'I didn't immediately realise they weren't human. I'm talking about the ones with the weird gaze, of course. The others were human. Some had rather sophisticated prosthetic limbs, but they were humans. They seemed so happy. This place seemed so peaceful and serene. Really! Then, we walked towards one of the old men sitting on a bench to ask him where the others were (the younger men and women, and the children). Without saying a word, he pointed at what looked like a gigantic glass stadium.'

'You don't want to see what's going on in there,' he exclaimed gravely, 'We can hear them sometimes. Leave us alone and go back where you've come from.' He paused for a moment before continuing calmly. 'It's almost over anyway. Look at us. It's almost over.'

We didn't listen to him and started heading towards the building. No one tried to stop us either by word or force. The intelligent system had well learnt the logic of the masters of Paradise. It knew their fears and desires since it had been conceived out of them. It knew it didn't need to invent some very powerful weapon to exterminate them. It was as efficient to confine them with meagre resources in a small corner with an unobstructed view of everything they didn't have access to, and let them kill each other for what they didn't have. The weakest would fall first, the strongest would become even stronger and bring down the rest until the last. But, ...

'Why spare the old ones and not the women and the children?' the young woman interrupts the president at the exact moment when he always asks this question.

'Yes...' the president sighs breathlessly. "Why?" he asks, raising his voice. He turns a questioning look at her. He finds it hard to hold back the restlessness in his hands which he places first on his thigh, then on his armchair, next on the glass of water placed on the table in front of him, and finally on his heart beating too fast.

'A.I. has provided the answer to that question,' she says, 'but you don't like it, do you?'

'I don't understand it,' he replies gazing stupidly in front of him, 'I don't understand it,' he repeats.

'You've never told me what you saw... tell me what you saw through the window of the stadium... the younger men, the women, and the children,' the young woman asks softly, leaning towards the president.

Silence returns to the room like a shadow, heavier and heavier. The old man slouches again on his seat as if to let his whole body be swallowed up in matter. He gazes at the ceiling for awhile, allowing his memory to come back, but he still doesn't have the words; the words that a child of her age would understand and forgive.

He looked at these people. He watched them suffer their vulnerable mortal condition through a large window. They looked like the animals they massively slaughtered before eating them in large quantities. Little of everything, a lot of nothing. Men, women, children screaming behind the big glass and him and his comrades with the cyborgs standing on the other side. We stood there watching as if these people were actors in a movie on a giant screen. There was no harm in watching while we stayed on the other side. The cyborgs at our side watched motionless, their faces peaceful and imperturbable, their gaze lifeless and without compassion for those men, women, and children on the other side. Yes, I watched too.